We talked about us.
We talked about the future.
The future together.
We talked about shouting it from the mountain tops that we were in love.
We wanted to always be together.
We talked to my parents about my faults in our marriage.
They accepted him, even went as far as to invite us to Las Vegas with them later this year.
They told us it wasn’t impossible, that if we wanted to work it out then we could and would.
We talked about the competition, about how I was the one he wanted back stage with him.
The one who knew him during his preps.
We talked about Mexico.
We talked about a family vacation.
We talked about living together.
We talked about marriage.
He even has my wedding ring sitting beside his on his nightstand.
We talked about knowing times weren’t always going to be easy.
I have fully excepted that things were not going to be immediately like they were. I knew that there were going to moments of anger, doubt, and insecurity, but I committed to myself to continue working on me in order to be the best wife, mother, friend, and companion. I have no intention on stopping that.
I sit here an empty shell.
Not certain what to make of anything.
Do I pick up my things from his house risking him thinking that I am giving up, throwing the towel in? Because that is not the conclusion that I want him to come to. Do I pick up my things from his house and give him time? I am sure that this is the right thing to do, but the thought, the thought alone kills me.
The past week, for me, was magical. I felt as though we had never connected in such a way. I was certain that we were going to again be our family. I can’t even express the unbearable pain that I feel right now.
Perhaps I deserve this.